


I do

by Mierke



Category: Hart of Dixie
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9603110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mierke/pseuds/Mierke
Summary: Post-season 2. Instead of going back to Bluebell after three months, Zoe stays in New York. Until she gets an email...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tjs_whatnot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjs_whatnot/gifts).



Zoe Hart knew how to make decisions. She was good at it. As a doctor in the emergency room she had to be. A snap decision could save a life; a hesitation could kill. Yet, as she was currently sitting on her bed, staring at her laptop, she was paralyzed with indecision. 

"You've got 24 hours," the subject line had said, and at first she had dismissed it as spam. She had been curious though, always needing to know more - and besides, the email had come from AnnaBeth, her once secret friend secret once more, and at the very least Zoe would have to let her know her email had been tainted.

The message itself had just said: "You can still stop this. Come home."

Zoe hadn't thought of going back to Alabama in over a year. New York was where she belonged, and she enjoyed every minute of her hectic life. She had hardly thought of Bluebell at all, taking in AB's stories as nothing more than fairy tales. She had enjoyed hearing about the town, as she would any good story; it had helped her escape for a while, had helped her rest after a hard day of work saving people's lives.

AB herself had never mentioned the idea before either, and dreading what she might see, Zoe had opened the attachment.

That's where she had gotten stuck. Her eyes had caught on the elegant font, the whimsy decoration, the stylish layout. Her heart had stopped, had skipped a beat here and there - she might not have been a heart surgeon yet, but she still knew hers - when she had found the names.

Or rather, the name. Who Wade was marrying didn't really matter, though there was some irony to be found in the fact that the woman whose marriage she had broken up all those years ago was now marrying the love of her life.

Wade. It truly didn't matter how many great guys she had come along, how many brilliant doctors she had met, nor even how many gorgeous men she'd had in her bed. Her thoughts had always returned to him, to the point of it being obsessive. Her therapist had advised her over and over to confront Wade, had said she needed closure. She had thought about it, at first. But when she hadn't returned after three months, had fallen too deep into New York life to give any credence to her memories of Bluebell, she knew with each passing day that it became more and more impossible. And so his declaration of love became an echo stuck in her head, reminding her of what she could have had but could never have again.

She couldn't return. Couldn't go back to Bluebell just to shake everything up again, to stop Lemon's wedding again. She had to let him go, as he had her.

She shouldn't go back.

She wouldn't.

She had to start packing.

***

Bluebell was gorgeous. Zoe inhaled the fresh air, the sense of expectation laced with insanity, the excitement and euphoria. She wasn't hiding per se, but she was grateful for the trees that helped her avoid being seen.

The streets were basically deserted anyway, most of the town having entered the church already. According to AB's timetable, she had one hour left.

Wade would be somewhere in there, preparing to say his vows, checking whether his clothes fit perfectly. She could hardly wrap her head around Wade and Lemon, but she figured it made sense in a way. Wade would bring out Lemon's playful side, Lemon Wade's serious one.

Maybe she shouldn't be doing this. Maybe it was simply too late for her, and her being here was sheer cruelty.

With a sigh she turned around, fully intending to leave unnoticed and unseen, and came eye to eye with the one person she couldn’t just brush off.

He was in a tux, stylish but with playful touches. He looked good, really good, and it took Zoe a minute to collect her bearings enough to realise he also looked like he'd just seen a ghost.

"Hi, " she said, for lack of anything other to say.

Wade for his part didn't say anything. He just stared, and then he started laughing.

"For the record," he finally said, "just in case that wasn't clear enough, we’re not doing this."

"Doing what?" Zoe asked, genuinely confused for a moment, as the image of Wade standing before her had taken over her entire brain

"You and me, Doc? Is never gonna happen."

"Oh."

He turned around to go back inside, when something occurred to Zoe.

"Wade?" she asked, and to her surprise he actually stopped. "Why were you outside?"

"I saw you," he told the door, and turned to face her once more. "I saw you, and I had to know if you were real. Because if you were truly here, that said you still loved me. But if you were just my imagination playing tricks on me..."

"It'd mean you still love me, " Zoe concluded, and Wade nodded.

"Do you?" she asked, when he didn't immediately turn back inside again. "I just..."

"I have to know, " she finished, trying to catch his eye. "Because you are right. Me being here does mean I still love you. I don't know what is wrong with me, I don't know why I didn't come back, I don't know why I ran away from you instead of towards you, but I do know that I still love you and always-"

"Zoe," Wade interrupted. "I'm getting married in thirty minutes. Why are you doing this?"

"I have to know, " she repeated, the pain making her voice soft. "Do you?"

He didn't reply for the longest time. He just stood there, while Zoe tried to calm her racing heart. He looked at her, eyes tracing her face as if memorising every line that made up who she was.

Then, he turned around. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned towards her one last time and said: "I do."

And he was gone.


End file.
